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AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


ROBERT  LOUIS 
STEVENSON 


AN 

APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 
AND  OTHER  ESSAYS 


PORTLAND  MAINE 

THOMAS  B MOSHER 

MDCCCCXVI 


FIRST  EDITION, 
SECOND  EDITION, 
THIRD  EDITION, 


OCTOBER,  1905 
SEPTEMBER,  1908 
SEPTEMBER,  1916 


/ 9 / £> 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

An  Apology  for  Idlers  . 9 

El  Dorado  35 

The  English  Admirals  . 45 


Child’s  Play  . 


77 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


Just  now,  when  every  one  is 
bound,  under  pain  of  a decree 
in  absence  convicting  them  of  lese-  v 
respectability,  to  enter  on  some 
lucrative  profession,  and  labour 
therein  with  something  not  far 
short  of  enthusiasm,  a cry  from 
the  opposite  party  who  are  con- 
tent when  they  have  enough,  and 
like  to  look  on  and  enjoy  in  the 
meanwhile,  savours  a little  of 
bravado  and  gasconade.  And  yet 
this  should  not  be.  Idleness  so 
called,  which  does  not  consist  in 
doing  nothing,  but  in  doing  a great 
deal  not  recognised  in  the  dog- 
matic formularies  of  the  ruling 
class,  has  as  good  a right  to  state 
its  position  as  industry  itself.  It 
is  admitted  that  the  presence  of 
people  who  refuse  to  enter  in  the 
great  handicap  race  for  sixpenny 
pieces,  is  at  once  an  insult  and  a 
disenchantment  for  those  who  do. 


9 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


A fine  fellow  (as  we  see  so  many) 
takes  his  determination,  votes  for 
the  sixpences,  and  in  the  emphatic 
Americanism,  “goes  for”  them. 
And  while  such  an  one  is  ploughing 
distressfully  up  the  road,  it  is  not 
hard  to  understand  his  resentment, 
when  he  perceives  cool  persons  in 
the  meadows  by  the  wayside,  lying 
with  a handkerchief  over  their  ears 
and  a glass  at  their  elbow.  Alex- 
ander is  touched  in  a very  delicate 
place  by  the  disregard  of  Diogenes. 
Where  was  the  glory  of  having 
taken  Rome  for  these  tumultu- 
ous barbarians,  who  poured  into 
the  Senate  house,  and  found  the 
Fathers  sitting  silent  and  unmoved 
by  their  success?  It  is  a sore 
thing  to  have  laboured  along  and 
scaled  the  arduous  hilltops,  and 
when  all  is  done,  find  humanity 
indifferent  to  your  achievement. 
Hence  physicists  condemn  the 
unphysical;  financiers  have  only  a 
superficial  toleration  for  those  who 
know  little  of  stocks;  literary  per- 


io 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


sons  despise  the  unlettered;  and 
people  of  all  pursuits  combine  to 
disparage  those  who  have  none. 

But  though  this  is  one  difficulty 
of  the  subject,  it  is  not  the  greatest. 
You  could  not  be  put  in  prison  for 
speaking  against  industry,  but  you 
can  be  sent  to  Coventry  for  speak- 
ing like  a fool.  The  greatest 
difficulty  with  most  subjects  is  to 
do  them  well;  therefore,  please 
to  remember  this  is  an  apology. 
It  is  certain  that  much  may  be 
judiciously  argued  in  favour  of 
diligence ; only  there  is  something 
to  be  said  against  it,  and  that  is 
what,  on  the  present  occasion,  I 
have  to  say.  To  state  one  argu- 
ment is  not  necessarily  to  be  deaf 
to  all  others,  and  that  a man  has 
written  a book  of  travels  in  Monte- 
negro, is  no  reason  why  he  should 
never  have  been  to  Richmond. 

It  is  surely  beyond  a doubt  that 
people  should  be  a good  deal 
idle  in  youth.  For  though  here 
and  there  a Lord  Macaulay  may 


ii 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


escape  from  school  honours  with 
all  his  wits  about  him,  most  boys 
pay  so  dear  for  their  medals  that 
they  never  afterwards  have  a shot 
in  their  locker,  and  begin  the  world 
bankrupt.  And  the  same  holds 
true  during  all  the  time  a lad  is 
educating  himself,  or  suffering 
others  to  educate  him.  It  must 
have  been  a very  foolish  old  gen- 
tleman who  addressed  Johnson  at 
Oxford  in  these  words:  “Young 
man,  ply  your  book  diligently  now, 
and  acquire  a stock  of  knowledge ; 
for  when  years  come  upon  you,  you 
will  find  that  poring  upon  books 
will  be  but  an  irksome  task  ” The 
old  gentleman  seems  to  have  been 
unaware  that  many  other  things 
besides  reading  grow  irksome,  and 
not  a few  become  impossible,  by 
the  time  a man  has  to  use  specta- 
cles and  cannot  walk  without  a 
stick.  Books  are  good  enough  in 
their  own  way,  but  they  are  a 
mighty  bloodless  substitute  for 
life.  It  seems  a pity  to  sit,  like 


12 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


the  Lady  of  Shalott,  peering  into 
a mirror,  with  your  back  turned 
on  all  the  bustle  and  glamour  of 
reality.  And  if  a man  reads  very 
hard,  as  the  old  anecdote  reminds 
us,  he  will  have  little  time  for 
thought. 

If  you  look  back  on  your  own 
education,  I am  sure  it  will  not  be 
the  full,  vivid,  instructive  hours 
of  truantry  that  you  regret;  you 
would  rather  cancel  some  lack- 
lustre periods  between  sleep  and 
waking  in  the  class.  For  my  own 
part,  I have  attended  a good  many 
lectures  in  my  time.  I still  remem- 
ber that  the  spinning  of  a top  is  a 
case  of  Kinetic  Stability.  I still 
remember  that  Emphyteusis  is  not 
a disease,  nor  Stillicide  a crime. 
But  though  I would  not  willingly 
part  with  such  scraps  of  science, 
I do  not  set  the  same  store  by 
them  as  by  certain  other  odds  and 
ends  that  I came  by  in  the  open 
street  while  I was  playing  truant. 
This  is  not  the  moment  to  dilate 


13 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


on  that  mighty  place  of  education, 
which  was  the  favourite  school  of 
Dickens  and  of  Balzac,  and  turns 
out  yearly  many  inglorious  masters 
in  the  Science  of  the  Aspects  of 
Life.  Suffice  it  to  say  this:  if  a 
lad  does  not  learn  in  the  streets, 
it  is  because  he  has  no  faculty  of 
learning.  Nor  is  the  truant  always 
in  the  streets,  for  if  he  prefers, 
he  may  go  out  by  the  gardened 
suburbs  into  the  country.  He 
may  pitch  on  some  tuft  of  lilacs 
over  a burn,  and  smoke  innumer- 
able pipes  to  the  tune  of  the  water 
on  the  stones.  A bird  will  sing  in 
the  thicket.  And  there  he  may 
fall  into  a vein  of  kindly  thought, 
and  see  things  in  a new  perspective. 
Why,  if  this  be  not  education,  what 
is?  We  may  conceive  Mr.  Worldly 
Wiseman  accosting  such  an  one, 
and  the  conversation  that  should 
thereupon  ensue: 

“ How  now,  young  fellow,  what 
dost  thou  here  ?” 

“Truly,  sir,  I take  mine  ease.” 


14 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


“Is  not  this  the  hour  of  the 
class?  and  should’st  thou  not  be 
plying  thy  Book  with  diligence, 
to  the  end  thou  mayest  obtain 
knowledge  ? ” 

“Nay,  but  thus  also  I follow’ 
after  Learning,  by  your  leave.” 

“ Learning,  quotha  1 After  wh  at 
fashion,  I pray  thee  ? Is  it  math- 
ematics ? ” 

“No,  to  be  sure.” 

“ Is  it  metaphysics  ? ” 

“ Nor  that.” 

“ Is  it  some  language  ? ” 

“ Nay,  it  is  no  language.” 

“ Is  it  a trade  ? ” 

“ Nor  a trade  neither.” 

“ Why,  then,  what  is  ’ t ? ” 

“ Indeed,  sir,  as  a time  may  soon 
come  for  me  to  go  upon  Pilgrim- 
age, I am  desirous  to  note  what 
is  commonly  done  by  persons  in 
my  case,  and  where  are  the  ugliest 
Sloughs  and  Thickets  on  the  Road ; 
as  also,  wThat  manner  of  Staff  is  of 
the  best  service.  Moreover,  I lie 
here,  by  this  water,  to  learn  by 


15 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


root-offfleart  a lesson  which  my 
master  teaches  me  to  call  Peace, 
or  Contentment.” 

Hereupon  Mr.  Worldly  Wise- 
man was  much  commoved  with 
passion,  and  shaking  his  cane 
with  a very  threatful  countenance, 
broke  forth  upon  this  wise : 
“Learning,  quotha!”  said  he; 
“ I would  have  all  such  rogues 
scourged  by  the  Hangman!” 
And  so  he  would  go  his  way, 
ruffling  out  his  cravat  with  a 
crackle  of  starch,  like  a turkey 
when  it  spreads  its  feathers. 

Now  this,  of  Mr.  Wiseman’s,  is 
the  common  opinion.  A fact  is 
not  called  a fact,  but  a piece  of 
gossip,  if  it  does  not  fall  into  one 
of  your  scholastic  categories.  An 
inquiry  must  be  in  some  acknowl- 
edged direction,  with  a name  to 
go  by;  or  else  you  are  not  inquir- 
ing at  all,  only  lounging;  and  the 
workhouse  is  too  good  for  you. 
It  is  supposed  that  all  knowledge 
is  at  the  bottom  of  a well,  or  the 


16 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


far  end  of  a telescope.  Sainte- 
Beuve,  as  he  grew  older,  came  to 
regard  all  experience  as  a single 
great  book,  in  which  to  study  for 
a few  years  ere  we  go  hence ; and 
it  seemed  all  one  to  him  whether 
you  should  read  in  Chapter  xx, 
which  is  the  differential  calculus, 
or  in  Chapter  xxxix,  which  is 
hearing  the  band  play  in  the  gar- 
dens. As  a matter  of  fact,  an 
intelligent  person,  looking  out  of 
his  eyes  and  hearkening  in  his 
ears,  with  a smile  on  his  face  all 
the  time,  will  get  more  true  edu- 
cation than  many  another  in  a life 
of  heroic  vigils.  There  is  cer- 
tainly some  chill  and  arid  knowl- 
edge to  be  found  upon  the  summits 
of  formal  and  laborious  science; 
but  it  is  all  round  about  you,  and 
for  the  trouble  of  looking,  that 
you  will  acquire  the  warm  and 
palpitating  facts  of  life.  While 
others  are  filling  their  memory 
with  a lumber  of  words,  one-half 
of  which  they  will  forget  before 


17 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


the  week  be  out,  your  truant  may 
learn  some  really  useful  art:  to 
play  the  fiddle,  to  know  a good 
cigar,  or  to  speak  with  ease  and 
opportunity  to  all  varieties  of 
men.  Many  who  have  “plied 
their  book  diligently,”  and  know 
all  about  some  one  branch  or 
another  of  accepted  lore,  come 
out  of  the  study  with  an  ancient 
and  owl-like  demeanour,  and  prove 
dry,  stockish,  and  dyspeptic  in  all 
the  better  and  brighter  parts  of 
life.  Many  make  a large  fortune, 
who  remain  underbred  and  pathet- 
ically stupid  to  the  last.  And 
meantime  there  goes  the  idler, 
who  began  life  along  with  them  — 
by  your  leave,  a different  picture. 
He  has  had  time  to  take  care  of 
his  health  and  his  spirits ; he  has 
been  a great  deal  in  the  open  air, 
which  is  the  most  salutary  of  all 
things  for  both  body  and  mind; 
and  if  he  has  never  read  the  great 
Book  in  very  recondite  places,  he 
has  dipped  into  it  and  skimmed  it 


18 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


over  to  excellent  purpose.  Might 
not  the  student  afford  some 
Hebrew  roots,  and  the  business 
man  some  of  his  half-crowns,  for 
a share  of  the  idler’s  knowledge 
of  life  at  large,  and  Art  of  Living  ? 
Nay,  and  the  idler  has  another 
and  more  important  quality  than 
these.  I mean  his  wisdom.  He 
who  has  much  looked  on  at  the 
childish  satisfaction  of  other  peo- 
ple in  their  hobbies,  will  regard 
his  own  with  only  a very  ironical 
indulgence.  He  will  not  be  heard 
among  the  dogmatists.  He  will 
have  a great  and  cool  allowance 
for  all  sorts  of  people  and  opinions. 
If  he  finds  no  out-of-the-way  truths, 
he  will  identify  himself  with  no 
very  burning  falsehood.  His  way 
takes  him  along  a by-road,  not 
much  frequented,  but  very  even 
and  pleasant,  which  is  called 
Commonplace  Lane,  and  leads  to 
the  Belvedere  of  Commonsense. 
Thence  he  shall  command  an 
agreeable,  if  no  very  noble  pros- 


19 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


pect;  and  while  others  behold  the 
East  and  West,  the  Devil  and 
the  Sunrise,  he  will  be  contentedly 
aware  of  a sort  of  morning  hour 
upon  all  sublunary  things,  with  an 
army  of  shadows  running  speedily 
and  in  many  different  directions 
into  the  great  daylight  of  Eternity. 
The  shadows  and  the  generations, 
the  shrill  doctors  and  the  plangent 
wars,  go  by  into  ultimate  silence 
and  emptiness ; but  underneath  all 
this,  a man  may  see,  out  of  the 
Belvedere  windows,  much  green 
and  peaceful  landscape ; many  fire- 
lit  parlours ; good  people  laughing, 
drinking,  and  making  love  as  they 
did  before  the  Flood  or  the  French 
Revolution;  and  the  old  shepherd 
telling  his  tale  under  the  hawthorn. 

Extreme  busyness , whether  at 
school  or  college,  kirk  or  market, 
is  a symptom  of  deficient  vitality ; 
and  a faculty  for  idleness  implies 
a catholic  appetite  and  a strong 
sense  of  personal  identity.  There 
is  a sort  of  dead-alive,  hackneyed 


20 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


people  about,  who  are  scarcely 
conscious  of  living  except  in  the 
exercise  of  some  conventional 
occupation.  Bring  these  fellows 
into  the  country,  or  set  them 
aboard  ship,  and  you  will  see  how 
they  pine  for  their  desk  or  their 
study.  They  have  no  curiosity; 
they  cannot  give  themselves  over 
to  random  provocations;  they  do 
not  take  pleasure  in  the  exercise 
of  their  faculties  for  its  own  sake ; 
and  unless  Necessity  lays  about 
them  with  a stick,  they  will  even 
stand  still.  It  is  no  good  speak- 
ing to  such  folk:  they  cannot  be 
idle,  their  nature  is  not  generous 
enough ; and  they  pass  those  hours 
in  a sort  of  coma,  which  are  not 
dedicated  to  furious  moiling  in  the 
gold-mill.  When  they  do  not 
require  to  go  to  the  office,  when 
they  are  not  hungry  and  have  no 
mind  to  drink,  the  whole  breath- 
ing world  is  a blank  to  them.  If 
they  have  to  wait  an  hour  or  so 
for  a train,  they  fall  into  a stupid 


21 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


trance  with  their  eyes  open.  To 
see  them,  you  would  suppose  there 
was  nothing  to  look  at  and  no  one 
to  speak  with ; you  would  imagine 
they  were  paralysed  or  alienated; 
and  yet  very  possibly  they  are 
hard  workers  in  their  own  way, 
and  have  good  eyesight  for  a flaw 
in  a deed  or  a turn  of  the  market. 
They  have  been  to  school  and 
college,  but  all  the  time  they  had 
their  eye  on  the  medal ; they  have 
gone  about  in  the  world  and  mixed 
with  clever  people,  but  all  the 
time  they  were  thinking  of  their 
own  affairs.  As  if  a man’s  soul 
were  not  too  small  to  begin  with, 
they  have  dwarfed  and  narrowed 
theirs  by  a life  of  all  work  and  no 
play;  until  here  they  are  at  forty, 
with  a listless  attention,  a mind 
vacant  of  all  material  of  amuse- 
ment, and  not  one  thought  to  rub 
against  another,  while  they  wait  for 
the  train.  Before  he  was  breeched, 
he  might  have  clambered  on  the 
boxes;  when  he  was  twenty,  he 


22 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


would  have  stared  at  the  girls; 
but  now  the  pipe  is  smoked  out, 
the  snuff-box  empty,  and  my 
gentleman  sits  bolt  upright  upon 
a bench,  with  lamentable  eyes. 
This  does  not  appeal  to  me  as 
being  Success  in  Life. 

But  it  is  not  only  the  person 
himself  who  suffers  from  his  busy 
habits,  but  his  wife  and  children, 
his  friends  and  relations,  and  down 
to  the  very  people  he  sits  with  in 
a railway  carriage  or  an  omnibus. 
Perpetual  devotion  to  what  a man 
calls  his  business,  is  only  to  be 
sustained  by  perpetual  neglect  of 
many  other  things.  And  it  is  not 
by  any  means  certain  that  a man’s 
business  is  the  most  important 
thing  he  has  to  do.  To  an  impar- 
tial estimate  it  will  seem  clear  that 
many  of  the  wisest,  most  virtuous, 
and  most  beneficent  parts  that  are 
to  be  played  upon  the  Theatre  of 
Life  are  filled  by  gratuitous  per- 
formers, and  pass,  among  the 
world  at  large,  as  phases  of  idle- 


23 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


ness.  For  in  that  Theatre,  not 
only  the  walking  gentlemen,  sing- 
ing chambermaids  and  diligent 
fiddlers  in  the  orchestra,  but  those 
who  look  on  and  clap  their  hands 
from  the  benches,  do  really  play  a 
part  and  fulfil  important  offices 
towards  the  general  result.  You 
are  no  doubt  very  dependent  on 
the  care  of  your  lawyer  and  stock- 
broker, of  the  guards  and  signal- 
men who  convey  you  rapidly  from 
place  to  place,  and  the  policemen 
who  walk  the  streets  for  your 
protection;  but  is  there  not  a 
thought  of  gratitude  in  your  heart 
for  certain  other  benefactors  who 
set  you  smiling  when  they  fall  in 
your  way,  or  season  your  dinner 
with  good  company?  Colonel 
Newcome  helped  to  lose  his 
friend’s  money;  Fred  Bayham 
had  an  ugly  trick  of  borrowing 
shirts;  and  yet  they  w’ere  better 
people  to  fall  among  than  Mr. 
Barnes.  And  though  Falstaff  was 
neither  sober  nor  very  honest,  I 


24 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


think  I could  name  one  or  two 
long-faced  Barabbases  whom  the 
world  could  better  have  done  with- 
out. Hazlitt  mentions  that  he 
was  more  sensible  of  obligation  to 
Northcote,  who  had  never  done 
him  anything  he  could  call  a 
service,  than  to  his  whole  circle 
of  ostentatious  friends;  for  he 
thought  a good  companion  em- 
phatically the  greatest  benefactor. 
I know  there  are  people  in  the 
world  who  cannot  feel  grateful 
unless  the  favour  has  been  done 
them  at  the  cost  of  pain  and  diffi- 
culty. But  this  is  a churlish 
disposition.  A man  may  send 
you  six  sheets  of  letter-paper 
covered  with  the  most  entertain- 
ing gossip,  or  you  may  pass  half 
an  hour  pleasantly,  perhaps  profit- 
ably, over  an  article  of  his;  do 
you  think  the  service  would  be 
greater,  if  he  had  made  the  manu- 
script in  his  heart’s  blood,  like  a 
compact  with  the  devil  ? Do  you 
really  fancy  you  should  be  more 


25 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


beholden  to  your  correspondent, 
if  he  had  been  damning  you  all 
the  while  for  your  importunity? 
Pleasures  are  more  beneficial  than 
duties  because,  like  the  quality  of 
mercy,  they  are  not  strained,  and 
they  are  twice  blest.  There  must 
always  be  two  to  a kiss,  and  there 
may  be  a score  in  a jest;  but 
wherever  there  is  an  element  of 
sacrifice,  the  favour  is  conferred 
with  pain,  and,  among  generous 
people,  received  with  confusion. 
There  is  no  duty  we  so  much 
underrate  as  the  ciuty  of  being 
happy.  By  being  happy,  we  sow 
anonymous  benefits  upon  the 
world,  which  remain  unknown 
even  to  ourselves,  or  when  they 
are  disclosed,  surprise  nobody  so 
much  as  the  benefactor.  The 
other  day,  a ragged,  barefoot  boy 
ran  down  the  street  after  a marble, 
with  so  jolly  an  air  that  he  set 
every  one  he  passed  into  a good 
humour;  one  of  these  persons, 
who  had  been  delivered  from 


26 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


more  than  usually  black  thoughts, 
stopped  the  little  fellow  and  gave 
him  some  money  with  this  remark : 
“You  see  what  sometimes  comes 
of  looking  pleased.”  If  he  had 
looked  pleased  before,  he  had  now 
to  look  both  pleased  and  mystified. 
For  my  part,  I justify  this  encour- 
agement of  smiling  rather  than 
tearful  children ; I do  not  wish  to 
pay  for  tears  anywhere  but  upon 
the  stage;  but  I am  prepared  to 
deal  largely  in  the  opposite  com- 
modity. A happy  man  or  woman 
is  a better  thing  to  find  than  a five- 
pound  note.  He  or  she  is  a radi- 
ating focus  of  goodwill;  and 
their  entrance  into  a room  is  as 
though  another  candle  had  been 
lighted.  We  need  not  care  whether 
they  could  prove  the  forty-seventh 
proposition ; they  do  a better  thing 
than  that,  they  practically  demon- 
strate the  great  Theorem  of 
the  Liveableness  of  Life.  Conse- 
quently, if  a person  cannot  be 
happy  without  remaining  idle,  idle 


27 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


he  should  remain.  It  is  a revolu- 
tionary precept;  but  thanks  to 
hunger  and  the  workhouse,  one 
not  easily  to  be  abused;  and 
within  practical  limits,  it  is  one 
of  the  most  incontestable  truths 
in  the  whole  Body  of  Morality. 
Look  at  one  of  your  industrious 
fellows  for  a moment,  I beseech 
you.  He  sows  hurry  and  reaps 
indigestion;  he  puts  a vast  deal 
of  activity  out  to  interest,  and 
receives  a large  measure  of 
nervous  derangement  in  return. 
Either  he  absents  himself  entirely 
from  all  fellowship,  and  lives  a 
recluse  in  a garret,  with  carpet 
slippers  and  a leaden  inkpot;  or 
he  comes  among  people  swiftly 
and  bitterly,  in  a contraction  of 
his  whole  nervous  system,  to  dis- 
charge some  temper  before  he 
returns  to  work.  I do  not  care 
how  much  or  how  well  he  works, 
this  fellow  is  an  evil  feature  in 
other  people’s  lives.  They  would 
be  happier  if  he  were  dead.  They 


28 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


could  easier  do  without  his  services 
in  the  Circumlocution  Office,  than 
they  can  tolerate  his  fractious 
spirits.  He  poisons  life  at  the 
well-head.  It  is  better  to  be  beg- 
gared out  of  hand  by  a scapegrace 
nephew,  than  daily  hag-ridden  by 
a peevish  uncle. 

And  what,  in  God’s  name,  is  all 
this  pother  about?  For  what 
cause  do  they  embitter  their  own 
and  other  people’s  lives  ? That  a 
man  should  publish  three  or  thirty 
articles  a year,  that  he  should 
finish  or  not  finish  his  great  alle- 
gorical picture,  are  questions  of 
little  interest  to  the  world.  The 
ranks  of  life  are  full ; and  although 
a thousand  fall,  there  are  always 
some  to  go  into  the  breach.  When 
they  told  Joan  of  Arc  she  should 
be  at  home  minding  women’s  work, 
she  answered  there  were  plenty  to 
spin  and  wash.  And  so,  even  with 
your  own  rare  gifts ! When  nature 
is  “ so  careless  of  the  single  life,” 
why  should  we  coddle  ourselves 


29 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


into  the  fancy  that  our  own  is  of 
exceptional  importance  ? Suppose 
Shakespeare  had  been  knocked  on 
the  head  some  dark  night  in  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy’s  preserves,  the  world 
would  have  wagged  on  better  or 
worse,  the  pitcher  gone  to  the  well, 
the  scythe  to  the  corn,  and  the  stu- 
dent to  his  book ; and  no  one  been 
any  the  wiser  of  the  loss.  There 
are  not  many  works  extant,  if  you 
look  the  alternative  all  over,  which 
are  worth  the  price  of  a pound  of 
tobacco  to  a man  of  limited  means. 
This  is  a sobering  reflection  for  the 
proudest  of  our  earthly  vanities. 
Even  a tobacconist  may,  upon  con- 
sideration, find  no  great  cause  for 
personal  vainglory  in  the  phrase ; 
for  although  tobacco  is  an  admir- 
able sedative,  the  qualities  neces- 
sary for  retailing  it  are  neither 
rare  nor  precious  in  themselves. 
Alas  and  alas!  you  may  take  it 
how  you  will,  but  the  services  of 
no  single  individual  are  indispen- 
sable. Atlas  was  j ust  a gentleman 


30 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


with  a protracted  nightmare!  And 
yet  you  see  merchants  who  go  and 
labour  themselves  into  a great 
fortune  and  thence  into  the  bank- 
ruptcy court ; scribblers  who  keep 
scribbling  at  little  articles  until 
their  temper  is  a cross  to  all  who 
come  about  them,  as  though 
Pharaoh  should  set  the  Israelites 
to  make  a pin  instead  of  a pyra- 
mid; and  fine  young  men  who 
work  themselves  into  a decline, 
and  are  driven  off  in  a hearse  with 
white  plumes  upon  it.  Would  you 
not  suppose  these  persons  had 
been  whispered,  by  the  Master  of 
the  Ceremonies,  the  promise  of 
some  momentous  destiny  ? and 
that  this  lukewarm  bullet  on  which 
they  play  their  farces  was  the 
bull’s-eye  and  centrepoint  of  all 
the  universe  ? And  yet  it  is  not 
so.  The  ends  for  which  they  give 
away  their  priceless  youth,  for  all 
they  know,  may  be  chimerical  or 
hurtful ; the  glory  and  riches  they 
expect  may  never  come,  or  may 


3i 


AN  APOLOGY  FOR  IDLERS 


find  them  indifferent;  and  they 
and  the  world  they  inhabit  are 
so  inconsiderable  that  the  mind 
freezes  at  the  thought. 


EL  DORADO 


EL  DORADO 


IT  seems  as  if  a great  deal  were 
attainable  in  a world  where 
there  are  so  many  marriages  and 
decisive  battles,  and  where  we  all, 
at  certain  hours  of  the  day,  and 
with  great  gusto  and  despatch, 
stow  a portion  of  victuals  finally 
and  irretrievably  into  the  bag 
which  contains  us.  And  it  would 
seem  also,  on  a hasty  view,  that 
the  attainment  of  as  much  as  pos- 
sible was  the  one  goal  of  man’s 
contentious  life.  And  yet,  as 
regards  the  spirit,  this  is  but  a 
semblance.  W e live  in  an  ascend- 
ing scale  when  we  live  happily,  one 
thing  leading  to  another  in  an 
endless  series.  There  is  always  a 
new  horizon  for  onward-looking 
men,  and  although  we  dwell  on  a 
small  planet,  immersed  in  petty 
business  and  not  enduring  beyond 
a brief  period  of  years,  we  are  so 
constituted  that  our  hopes  are 


35 


EL  DORADO 


inaccessible,  like  stars,  and  the 
term  of  hoping  is  prolonged  until 
the  term  of  life.  To  be  truly  happy 
is  a question  of  how  we  begin  and 
not  of  how  we  end,  of  what  we 
want  and  not  of  what  we  have. 
An  aspiration  is  a joy  forever,  a 
possession  as  solid  as  a landed 
estate,  a fortune  which  we  can 
never  exhaust  and  which  gives  us 
year  by  year  a revenue  of  pleasur- 
able activity.  To  have  many  of 
these  is  to  be  spiritually  rich.  Life 
is  only  a very  dull  and  ill-directed 
theatre  unless  we  have  some  inter- 
ests in  the  piece;  and  to  those 
who  have  neither  art  nor  science, 
the  world  is  a mere  arrangement 
of  colours,  or  a rough  footway 
where  they  may  very  wTell  break 
their  shins.  It  is  in  virtue  of  his 
own  desires  and  curiosities  that 
any  man  continues  to  exist  with 
even  patience,  that  he  is  charmed 
by  the  look  of  things  and  people, 
and  that  he  wakens  every  morning 
with  a renewed  appetite  for  work 


36 


EL  DORADO 


and  pleasure.  Desire  and  curios- 
ity are  the  two  eyes  through  which 
he  sees  the  world  in  the  most 
enchanted  colours:  it  is  they  that 
make  women  beautiful  or  fossils 
interesting : and  the  man  may 
squander  his  estate  and  come  to 
beggary,  but  if  he  keeps  these  two 
amulets  he  is  still  rich  in  the  pos- 
sibilities of  pleasure.  Suppose  he 
could  take  one  meal  so  compact 
and  comprehensive  that  he  should 
never  hunger  any  more;  suppose 
him,  at  a glance,  to  take  in  all  the 
features  of  the  world  and  allay 
the  desire  for  knowledge ; suppose 
him  to  do  the  like  in  any  province 
of  experience  — would  not  that 
man  be  in  a poor  way  for  amuse- 
ment ever  after? 

One  who  goes  touring  on  foot 
with  a single  volume  in  his  knap- 
sack reads  with  circumspection, 
pausing  often  to  reflect,  and  often 
laying  the  book  down  to  contem- 
plate the  landscape  or  the  prints 
in  the  inn  parlour;  for  he  fears 


37 


EL  DORADO 


to  come  to  an  end  of  his  enter- 
tainment, and  be  left  companion- 
less on  the  last  stages  of  his 
journey.  A young  fellow  recently 
finished  the  works  of  Thomas 
Carlyle,  winding  up,  if  we  remem- 
ber aright,  with  the  ten  note- 
books upon  Frederick  the  Great. 
“ What ! ” cried  the  young  fellow, 
in  consternation, “is  there  no  more 
Carlyle?  Am  I left  to  the  daily 
papers?”  A more  celebrated  in- 
stance is  that  of  Alexander,  who 
wept  bitterly  because  he  had  no 
more  wrorlds  to  subdue.  And 
when  Gibbon  had  finished  the 
Decline  and  Fall , he  had  only  a 
few  moments  of  joy;  and  it  was 
with  a “ sober  melancholy  ” that  he 
parted  from  his  labours. 

Happily  we  all  shoot  at  the 
moon  with  ineffectual  arrows ; 
our  hopes  are  set  on  inaccessible 
El  Dorado;  we  come  to  an  end 
of  nothing  here  below.  Interests 
are  only  plucked  up  to  sow  them- 
selves again,  like  mustard.  You 


38 


EL  DORADO 


would  think,  when  the  child  was 
born,  there  would  be  an  end  to 
trouble;  and  yet  it  is  only  the 
beginning  of  fresh  anxieties;  and 
when  you  have  seen  it  through  its 
teething  and  its  education,  and  at 
last  its  marriage,  alas ! it  is  only  to 
have  new  fears,  new  quivering 
sensibilities,  with  every  day;  and 
the  health  of  your  children’s  chil- 
dren grows  as  touching  a concern 
as  that  of  your  own.  Again,  when 
you  have  married  your  wife,  you 
would  think  you  were  got  upon  a 
hilltop,  and  might  begin  to  go 
downward  by  an  easy  slope.  But 
you  have  only  ended  courting  to 
begin  marriage.  Falling  in  love 
and  winning  love  are  often  difficult 
tasks  to  overbearing  and  rebellious 
spirits ; but  to  keep  in  love  is  also 
a business  of  some  importance,  to 
which  both  man  and  wife  must 
bring  kindness  and  goodwill.  The 
true  love  story  commences  at  the 
altar,  when  there  lies  before 
the  married  pair  a most  beautiful 


39 


EL  DORADO 


contest  of  wisdom  and  generosity, 
and  a life-long  struggle  towards 
an  unattainable  ideal.  Unattain- 
able ? Ay,  surely  unattainable, 
from  the  very  fact  that  they  are 
two  instead  of  one. 

“Of  making  books  there  is  no 
end,”  complained  the  Preacher; 
and  did  not  perceive  how  highly 
he  was  praising  letters  as  an 
occupation.  There  is  no  end, 
indeed,  to  making  books  or  experi- 
ments, or  to  travel,  or  to  gathering 
wealth.  Problem  gives  rise  to 
problem.  We  may  study  forever, 
and  we  are  never  as  learned  as  we 
would.  We  have  never  made  a 
statue  worthy  of  our  dreams.  And 
when  we  have  discovered  a con- 
tinent, or  crossed  a chain  of  moun- 
tains,it  is  only  to  find  another  ocean 
or  another  plain  upon  the  further 
side.  In  the  infinite  universe  there 
is  room  for  our  swiftest  diligence 
and  to  spare.  It  is  not  like  the 
works  of  Carlyle,  which  can  be 
read  to  an  end.  Even  in  a corner 


40 


EL  DORADO 


of  it,  in  a private  park,  or  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  a single  hamlet, 
the  weather  and  the  seasons  keep 
so  deftly  changing  that  although 
we  walk  there  for  a lifetime  there 
will  be  always  something  new  to 
startle  and  delight  us. 

There  is  only  one  wish  realisable 
on  the  earth ; only  one  thing  that 
can  be  perfectly  attained : Death. 
And  from  a variety  of  circum- 
stances we  have  no  one  to  tell  us 
whether  it  be  worth  attaining. 

A strange  picture  we  make  on 
our  way  to  our  chimaeras,  cease- 
lessly marching,  grudging  ourselves 
the  time  for  rest;  indefatigable, 
adventurous  pioneers.  It  is  true 
that  we  shall  never  reach  the  goal; 
it  is  even  more  than  probable  that 
there  is  no  such  place;  and  if  we 
lived  for  centuries  and  were  en- 
dowed with  the  powers  of  a god, 
we  should  find  ourselves  not  much 
nearer  what  we  wanted  at  the  end. 
O toiling  hands  of  mortals!  O 
unwearied  feet,  travelling  ye  know 


41 


EL  DORADO 


not  whither ! Soon,  soon,  it  seems 
to  you,  you  must  come  forth  on 
some  conspicuous  hilltop,  and  but 
a little  way  further,  against  the 
setting  sun,  descry  the  spires  of  El 
Dorado.  Little  do  ye  know  your 
own  blessedness;  for  to  travel 
hopefully  is  a better  thing  than  to 
arrive,  and  the  true  success  is  to 
labour. 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


“ Whether  it  be  wise  in  men  to 
do  such  actions  or  no,  I am  sure  it 
is  so  in  States  to  honour  them.” 
Sir  William  Temple 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


here  is  one  story  of  the  wars 


of  Rome  which  I have 


always  very  much  envied  for 
England.  Germanicus  was  going 
down  at  the  head  of  the  legions 
into  a dangerous  river — on  the 
opposite  bank  the  woods  were 
full  of  Germans  — when  there  flew 
out  seven  great  eagles  which 
seemed  to  marshal  the  Romans 
on  their  way;  they  did  not  pause 
or  waver,  but  disappeared  into 
the  forest  where  the  enemy  lay 
concealed.  “ Forward  ! ” cried 
Germanicus,  with  a fine  rhetorical 
inspiration,  “Forward!  and  follow 
the  Roman  birds.”  It  would  be  a 
very  heavy  spirit  that  did  not  give 
a leap  at  such  a signal,  and  a very 
timorous  one  that  continued  to 
have  any  doubt  of  success.  To 
appropriate  the  eagles  as  fellow- 
countrymen  was  to  make  imagin- 
ary allies  of  the  forces  of  nature ; 


45 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


the  Roman  Empire  and  its  mili- 
tary fortunes,  and  along  with  these 
the  prospects  of  those  individual 
Roman  legionaries  now  fording  a 
river  in  Germany,  looked  altogether 
greater  and  more  hopeful.  It  is  a 
kind  of  illusion  easy  to  produce. 
A particular  shape  of  cloud,  the 
appearance  of  a particular  star, 
the  holiday  of  some  particular 
saint,  anything  in  short  to  remind 
the  combatants  of  patriotic  legends 
or  old  successes,  may  be  enough 
to  change  the  issue  of  a pitched 
battle;  for  it  gives  to  the  one 
party  a feeling  that  Right  and  the 
larger  interests  are  with  them. 

If  an  Englishman  wishes  to  have 
such  a feeling,  it  must  be  about  the 
sea.  The  lion  is  nothing  to  us; 
he  has  not  been  taken  to  the 
hearts  of  the  people,  and  natural- 
ised as  an  English  emblem.  We 
know  right  well  that  a lion  would 
fall  foul  of  us  as  grimly  as  he 
would  of  a Frenchman  or  a Mol- 
davian Jew,  and  we  do  not  carry 


46 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


him  before  us  in  the  smoke  of  bat- 
tle. But  the  sea  is  our  approach 
and  bulwark;  it  has  been  the 
scene  of  our  greatest  triumphs 
and  dangers;  and  we  are  accus- 
tomed in  lyrical  strains  to  claim 
it  as  our  own.  The  prostrating 
experiences  of  foreigners  between 
Calais  and  Dover  have  always  an 
agreeable  side  to  English  prepos- 
sessions. A man  from  Bedford- 
shire, who  does  not  know  one  end 
of  the  ship  from  the  other  until  she 
begins  to  move,  swaggers  among 
such  * persons  with  a sense  of 
hereditary  nautical  experience.  To 
suppose  yourself  endowed  with 
natural  parts  for  the  sea  because 
you  are  the  countryman  of  Blake 
and  mighty  Nelson,  is  perhaps  just 
as  unwarrantable  as  to  imagine 
Scotch  extraction  a sufficient  guar 
antee  that  you  will  look  well  in  a 
kilt.  But  the  feeling  is  there,  and 
seated  beyond  the  reach  of  argu-| 
ment.  We  should  consider  our- 
selves unworthy  of  our  descent 


47 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


if  we  did  not  share  the  arrogance 
of  our  progenitors,  and  please 
ourselves  with  the  pretension  that 
the  sea  is  English.  Even  where 
it  is  looked  upon  by  the  guns  and 
battlements  of  another  nation  we 
regard  it  as  a kind  of  English 
cemetery,  where  the  bones  of  our 
seafaring  fathers  take  their  rest 
until  the  last  trumpet;  for  I sup- 
pose no  other  nation  has  lost  as 
many  ships,  or  sent  as  many  brave 
fellows  to  the  bottom. 

There  is  nowhere  such  a back- 
ground for  heroism  as  the  noble, 
terrifying,  and  picturesque  condi- 
tions of  some  of  our  sea  fights. 
Hawke’s  battle  in  the  tempest,  and 
Aboukir  at  the  moment  when  the 
French  Admiral  blew  up,  reach 
the  limit  of  what  is  imposing  to 
the  imagination.  And  our  naval 
annals  owe  some  of  their  interest 
to  the  fantastic  and  beautiful 
appearance  of  old  warships  and 
the  romance  that  invests  the  sea 
and  everything  sea-going  in  the 


48 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


eyes  of  English  lads  on  a half- 
holiday at  the  coast.  Nay,  and 
what  we  know  of  the  misery 
between  decks  enhances  the  brav- 
ery of  what  was  done  by  giving  it 
something  for  contrast.  We  like 
to  know  that  these  bold  and 
honest  fellows  contrived  to  live, 
and  to  keep  bold  and  honest, 
among  absurd  and  vile  surround- 
ings. No  reader  can  forget  the 
description  of  the  Thunder  in 
Roderick  Rando?n : the  disord- 

erly tyranny ; the  cruelty  and  dirt 
of  officers  and  men;  deck  after 
deck,  each  with  some  new  object 
of  offence ; the  hospital,  where  the 
hammocks  were  huddled  together 
with  but  fourteen  inches  space  for 
each ; the  cockpit,  far  under  water, 
where,  “ in  an  intolerable  stench,” 
the  spectacled  steward  kept  the 
accounts  of  the  different  messes ; 
and  the  canvas  enclosure,  six  feet 
square,  in  which  Morgan  made 
flip  and  salmagundi,  smoked  his 
pipe,  sang  his  Welsh  songs,  and 


49 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


swore  his  queer  Welsh  impreca- 
tions. There  are  portions  of  this 
business  on  board  the  Thunder 
over  which  the  reader  passes 
lightly  and  hurriedly,  like  a trav- 
eller in  a malarious  country.  It 
is  easy  enough  to  understand  the 
opinion  of  Dr.  Johnson:  “Why, 
sir,”  he  said,  “no  man  will  be  a 
sailor  wTho  has  contrivance  enough 
to  get  himself  into  a jail.”  You 
would  fancy  any  one’s  spirit  would 
die  out  under  such  an  accumula- 
tion of  darkness,  noisomeness,  and 
injustice,  above  all  when  he  had 
not  come  there  of  his  own  free 
will,  but  under  the  cutlasses  and 
bludgeons  of  the  press-gang.  But 
perhaps  a watch  on  deck  in  the 
sharp  sea  air  put  a man  on  his  met- 
tle again ; a battle  must  have  been 
a capital  relief;  and  prize-money, 
bloodily  earned  and  grossly  squand- 
ered, opened  the  doors  of  the  prison 
for  a twinkling.  Somehow  or 
other,  at  least,  this  worst  of  possi- 
ble lives  could  not  overlie  the 


50 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


spirit  and  gayety  of  our  sailors; 
they  did  their  duty  as  though  they 
had  some  interest  in  the  fortune 
of  that  country  which  so  cruelly 
oppressed  them,  they  served  their 
guns  merrily  when  it  came  to 
fighting,  and  they  had  the  readiest 
ear  for  a bold,  honourable  senti- 
ment, of  any  class  of  men  the 
world  ever  produced. 

Most  men  of  high  destinies  have 
high-sounding  names.  Pym  and 
Habakkuk  may  do  pretty  well, 
but  they  must  not  think  to  cope 
with  the  Cromwells  and  Isaiahs. 
And  you  could  not  find  a better 
case  in  point  than  that  of  the 
English  Admirals.  Drake  and 
Rooke  and  Hawke  are  picked 
names  for  men  of  execution. 
Frobisher,  Rodney,  Boscawen, 
Foul- Weather,  Jack  Byron,  are 
all  good  to  catch  the  eye  in  a 
page  of  a naval  history.  Cloudes- 
ley  Shovel  is  a mouthful  of  quaint 
and  sounding  syllables.  Benbow 
has  a bulldog  quality  that  suits 


5i 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


the  man’s  character,  and  it  takes 
us  back  to  those  English  archers 
who  were  his  true  comrades  for 
plainness,  tenacity,  and  pluck. 
Raleigh  is  spirited  and  martial, 
and  signifies  an  act  of  bold  con- 
duct in  the  field.  It  is  impossible 
to  judge  of  Blake  or  Nelson,  no 
names  current  among  men  being 
worthy  of  such  heroes.  But  still 
it  is  odd  enough,  and  very  appro- 
priate in  this  connection,  that  the 
latter  was  greatly  taken  with  his 
Sicilian  title.  “The  signification, 
perhaps,  pleased  him,”  says 
Southey;  “Duke  of  Thunder 
was  what  in  Dahomey  would  have 
been  called  a strong  name;  it  was  to 
a sailor’s  taste,  and  certainly  to  no 
man  could  it  be  more  applicable.” 
Admiral  in  itself  is  one  of  the  most 
satisfactory  of  distinctions;  it  has 
a noble  sound  and  a very  proud 
history ; and  Columbus  thought  so 
highly  of  it,  that  he  enjoined  his 
heirs  to  sign  themselves  by  that  title 
as  long  as  the  house  should  last. 


52 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


But  it  is  the  spirit  of  the  men, 
and  not  their  names,  that  I wish 
to  speak  about  in  this  paper. 
That  spirit  is  truly  English ; they, 
and  not  Tennyson’s  cotton-spin- 
ners or  Mr.  D’Arcy  Thompson’s 
Abstract  Bagman,  are  the  true 
and  typical  Englishmen.  There 
may  be  more  head  of  bagmen  in 
the  country,  but  human  beings  are 
reckoned  by  number  only  in 
political  constitutions.  And  the 
Admirals  are  typical  in  the  full 
force  of  the  word.  They  are 
splendid  examples  of  virtue,  in- 
deed, but  of  a virtue  in  which 
most  Englishmen  can  claim  a 
moderate  share ; and  what  we 
admire  in  their  lives  is  a sort  of 
apotheosis  of  ourselves.  Almost 
everybody  in  our  land,  except 
humanitarians  and  a few  persons 
whose  youth  has  been  depressed 
by  exceptionally  aesthetic  sur- 
roundings, can  understand  and 
sympathise  with  an  Admiral  or  a 
prize-fighter.  I do  not  wish  to 


53 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


bracket  Benbow  and  Tom  Cribb; 
but,  depend  upon  it,  they  are 
practically  bracketed  for  admira- 
tion in  the  minds  of  many  fre- 
quenters of  ale-houses.  If  you 
told  them  about  Germanicus  and 
the  eagles,  or  Regulus  going  back 
to  Carthage,  they  would  very 
likely  fall  asleep;  but  tell  them 
about  Harry  Pearce  and  Jem 
Belcher,  or  about  Nelson  and  the 
Nile,  and  they  put  down  their 
pipes  to  listen.  I have  by  me 
a copy  of  Boxiana , on  the  fly- 
leaves of  which  a youthful  member 
of  the  fancy  kept  a chronicle  of 
remarkable  events  and  an  obituary 
of  great  men.  Here  we  find  piously 
chronicled  the  demise  of  jockeys, 
■watermen,  and  pugilists  — Johnny 
Moore,  of  the  Liverpool  Prize 
Ring;  Tom  Spring,  aged  fifty- 
six;  “Pierce  Egan,  senior,  writer 
of  Boxiana  and  other  sporting- 
works  ” — and  among  all  these, 
the  Duke  of  Wellington ! If  Ben- 
bow had  lived  in  the  time  of  this 


54 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


annalist,  do  you  suppose  his  name 
would  not  have  been  added  to  the 
glorious  roll  ? In  short,  we  do  not 
all  feel  warmly  towards  Wesley  or 
Laud,  we  cannot  all  take  pleasure 
in  Paradise  Lost;  but  there  are 
certain  common  sentiments  and 
touches  of  nature  by  which  the 
whole  nation  is  made  to  feel 
kinship.  A little  while  ago  every- 
body, from  Hazlitt  and  John 
Wilson  down  to  the  imbecile 
creature  who  scribbled  his  register 
on  the  fly-leaves  of  Boxiana , felt 
a more  or  less  shamefaced  satis- 
faction in  the  exploits  of  prize- 
fighters. And  the  exploits  of  the 
Admirals  are  popular  to  the  same 
degree,  and  tell  in  all  ranks  of 
society.  Their  sayings  and  doings 
stir  English  blood  like  the  sound 
of  a trumpet;  and  jf  the  Indian 
Empire,  the  trade  of  London,  and 
all  the  outward  and  visible  ensigns 
of  our  greatness  should  pass  away, 
we  should  still  leave  behind  us  a 
durable  monument  of  what  we 


55 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


were  in  these  sayings  and  doings 
of  the  English  Admirals. 

Duncan,  lying  off  the  Texel  with 
his  own  flagship,  the  Venerable,  and 
only  one  other  vessel,  heard  that 
the  whole  Dutch  fleet  was  putting 
to  sea.  He  told  Captain  Hotham 
to  anchor  alongside  of  him  in  the 
narrowest  part  of  the  channel,  and 
fight  his  vessel  till  she  sank.  “ I 
have  taken  the  depth  of  the  water,” 
added  he,  “ and  when  the  Venerable 
goes  down,  my  flag  will  still  fly.” 
And  you  observe  this  is  no  naked 
Viking  in  a prehistoric  period ; but 
a Scotch  member  of  Parliament, 
with  a smattering  of  the  classics, 
a telescope,  a cocked  hat  of  great 
size,  and  flannel  underclothing. 
In  the  same  spirit,  Nelson  went 
into  Aboukir  with  six  colours 
flying;  so  that  even  if  five  were 
shot  away,  it  should  not  be  imag- 
ined he  had  struck.  He  too  must 
needs  wear  his  four  stars  outside 
his  Admiral’s  frock,  to  be  a butt 
for  sharpshooters.  “ In  honour  I 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


gained  them,”  he  said  to  objectors, 
adding  with  sublime  illogicality, 
“in  honour  I will  die  with  them.” 
Captain  Douglas  of  the  Royal 
Oakf  when  the  Dutch  fired  his 
vessel  in  the  Thames,  sent  his 
men  ashore,  but  wras  burned  along 
with  her  himself  rather  than  desert 
his  post  without  orders.  Just  then, 
perhaps  the  Merry  Monarch  was 
chasing  a moth  round  the  supper- 
table  with  the  ladies  of  his  court. 
When  Raleigh  sailed  into  Cadiz, 
and  all  the  forts  and  ships  opened 
fire  on  him  at  once,  he  scorned  to 
shoot  a gun,  and  made  answer 
with  a flourish  of  insulting  trump- 
ets. I like  this  bravado  better  than 
the  wisest  dispositions  to  insure 
victory;  it  comes  from  the  heart 
and  goes  to  it.  God  has  made 
nobler  heroes,  but  he  never  made 
a finer  gentleman  than  Walter 
Raleigh.  And  as  our  Admirals 
were  full  of  heroic  superstitions, 
and  had  a strutting  and  vain- 
glorious style  of  fight,  so  they 


57 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


discovered  a startling  eagerness 
for  battle,  and  courted  war  like  a 
mistress.  When  the  news  came 
to  Essex  before  Cadiz  that  the 
attack  had  been  decided,  he  threw 
his  hat  into  the  sea.  It  is  in  this 
way  that  a schoolboy  hears  of 
a half-holiday ; but  this  was  a 
bearded  man  of  great  possessions 
who  had  just  been  allowed  to  risk 
his  life.  Benbow  could  not  lie 
still  in  his  bunk  after  he  had  lost 
his  leg;  he  must  be  on  deck  in  a 
basket  to  direct  and  animate  the 
fight.  I said  they  loved  war  like 
a mistress;  yet  I think  there  are 
not  many  mistresses  we  should 
continue  to  woo  under  similar 
circumstances.  Trowbridge  went 
ashore  with  the  Cullodeny  and  was 
able  to  take  no  part  in  the  battle 
of  the  Nile.  “ The  merits  of  that 
ship  and  her  gallant  captain,” 
wrote  Nelson  to  the  Admiralty, 
“ are  too  well  known  to  benefit  by 
anything  I could  say.  Her  mis- 
fortune was  great  in  getting 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


aground,  while  her  more  fortunate 
companions  were  in  the  full  tide  of 
happiness This  is  a notable 
expression,  and  depicts  the  whole 
great-hearted,  big-spoken  stock  of 
the  English  Admirals  to  a hair. 
It  was  to  be  “in  the  full  tide  of 
happiness  ” for  Nelson  to  destroy 
five  thousand  five  hundred  and 
twenty-five  of  his  fellow-creatures, 
and  have  his  own  scalp  tom 
open  by  a piece  of  langridge  shot. 
Hear  him  again  at  Copenhagen: 
“A  shot  through  the  mainmast 
knocked  the  splinters  about;  and 
he  observed  to  one  of  his  officers 
with  a smile,  ‘ It  is  wTarm  work,  and 
this  may  be  the  last  to  any  of  us 
at  any  moment  ’ ; and  then,  stop- 
ping short  at  the  gangway,  added, 
with  emotion,  ‘ But , mark  you 
— / would  not  be  elsewhere  for 
thousands l ” 

I must  tell  one  more  story, 
which  has  lately  been  made  familiar 
to  us  all,  and  that  in  one  of  the 
noblest  ballads  in  the  English  lan- 


59 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


guage.  I had  written  my  tame 
prose  abstract,  I shall  beg  the 
reader  to  believe,  when  I had  no 
notion  that  the  sacred  bard  de- 
signed an  immortality  for  Green- 
ville. Sir  Richard  Greenville  was 
Vice-Admiral  to  Lord  Thomas 
Howard,  and  lay  off  the  Azores 
with  the  English  squadron  in  1591. 
He  was  a noted  tyrant  to  his  crew : 
a dark,  bullying  fellow  apparently; 
and  it  is  related  of  him  that  he 
would  chew  and  swallow  wine- 
glasses, by  way  of  convivial  levity, 
till  the  blood  ran  out  of  his 
mouth.  When  the  Spanish  fleet 
of  fifty  sail  came  within  sight  of 
the  English,  his  ship,  the  Revenge , 
was  the  last  to  weigh  anchor,  and 
was  so  far  circumvented  by  the 
Spaniards,  that  there  were  but  two 
courses  open  — either  to  turn  her 
back  upon  the  enemy  or  sail 
through  one  of  his  squadrons. 
The  first  alternative  Greenville 
dismissed  as  dishonourable  to 
himself,  his  country,  and  her 


60 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


Majesty’s  ship.  Accordingly,  he 
chose  the  latter,  and  steered  into 
the  Spanish  armament.  Several 
vessels  he  forced  to  luff  and  fall 
under  his  lee;  until,  about  three 
o’clock  of  the  afternoon,  a great 
ship  of  three  decks  of  ordnance 
took  the  wind  out  of  his  sails,  and 
immediately  boarded.  Thencefor- 
ward, and  all  night  long,  the  Revenge 
held  her  own  single-handed  against 
the  Spaniards.  As  one  ship  wras 
beaten  off,  another  took  its  place. 
Sheendured, according  to  Raleigh’s 
computation,  “ eight  hundred  shot 
of  great  artillery,  besides  many 
assaults  and  entries.”  By  morn- 
ing the  powTder  was  spent,  the 
pikes  all  broken,  not  a stick  was 
standing,  “nothing  left  overhead 
either  for  flight  or  defence”;  six 
feet  of  water  in  the  hold;  almost 
all  the  men  hurt;  and  Greenville 
himself  in  a dying  condition.  To 
bring  them  to  this  pass,  a fleet  of 
fifty  sail  had  been  mauling  them 
for  fifteen  hours,  the  Admiral  of 


61 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


the  Hulks  and  the  Ascension  of 
Seville  had  both  gone  down  along- 
side, and  two  other  vessels  had 
taken  refuge  on  shore  in  a sinking 
state.  In  Hawke’s  words,  they 
had  “ taken  a great  deal  of  drub- 
bing.” The  captain  and  crew 
thought  they  had  done  about 
enough;  but  Greenville  was  not 
of  this  opinion;  he  gave  orders  to 
the  master  gunner,  whom  he  knew 
to  be  a fellow  after  his  own  stamp, 
to  scuttle  the  Revenge  where  she 
lay.  The  others,  who  were  not 
mortally  wounded  like  the  Admiral, 
interfered  with  some  decision, 
locked  the  master  gunner  in  his 
cabin,  after  having  deprived  him 
of  his  sword,  for  he  manifested  an 
intention  to  kill  himself  if  he  were 
not  to  sink  the  ship ; and  sent  to 
the  Spaniards  to  demand  terms. 
These  were  granted.  The  second 
or  third  day  after,  Greenville  died 
of  his  wounds  aboard  the  Spanish 
flagship,  leaving  his  contempt 
upon  the  “ traitors  and  dogs  ” w ho 


62 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


had  not  chosen  to  do  as  he  did, 
and  engage  fifty  vessels,  well  found 
and  fully  manned,  with  six  inferior 
craft  ravaged  by  sickness  and 
short  of  stores.  He  at  least,  he 
said,  had  done  his  duty  as  he  was 
bound  to  do,  and  looked  for  ever- 
lasting fame. 

Some  one  said  to  me  the  other 
day  that  they  considered  this  story 
to  be  of  a pestilent  example.  I 
am  not  inclined  to  imagine  we  shall 
ever  be  put  into  any  practical  diffi- 
culty from  a superfluity  of  Green- 
villes.  And  besides,  I demur  to 
the  opinion.  The  worth  of  such 
actions  is  not  a thing  to  be  decided 
in  a quaver  of  sensibility  or  a flush 
of  righteous  commonsense.  The 
man  who  wished  to  make  the 
ballads  of  his  country,  coveted  a 
small  matter  compared  to  what 
Richard  Greenville  accomplished. 
I wonder  how  many  people  have 
been  inspired  by  this  mad  story, 
and  how  many  battles  have  been 
actually  won  for  England  in  the 


63 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


spirit  thus  engendered.  It  is  only 
with  a measure  of  habitual  fool- 
hardiness that  you  can  be  sure,  in 
the  common  run  of  men,  of  cour- 
age on  a reasonable  occasion.  An 
army  or  a fleet,  if  it  is  not  led  by 
quixotic  fancies,  will  not  be  led  far 
by  terror  of  the  Provost  Marshal. 
Even  German  warfare,  in  addition 
to  maps  and  telegraphs,  is  not 
above  employing  the  Wacht  am 
Rhein . Nor  is  it  only  in  the 

"7  profession  of  arms  that  such 
stories  may  do  good  to  a man. 
In  this  desperate  and  gleeful 
fighting,  whether  it  is  Greenville 
or  Benbow,  Hawke  or  Nelson, 
who  flies  his  colours  in  the  ship, 
we  see  men  brought  to  the  test 
and  giving  proof  of  what  we  call 
heroic  feeling.  Prosperous  hu- 
manitarians tell  me,  in  my  club 
smoking-room,  that  they  are  a prey 
to  prodigious  heroic  feelings,  and 
that  it  costs  them  more  nobility  of 
soul  to  do  nothing  in  particular, 
than  would  carry  on  all  the  wars, 


64 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


by  sea  or  land,  of  bellicose 
humanity.  It  may  very  well  be  so, 
and  yet  not  touch  the  point  in 
question.  For  what  I desire  is  to 
see  some  of  this  nobility  brought 
face  to  face  with  me  in  an  inspirit- 
ing achievement.  A man  may 
talk  smoothly  over  a cigar  in  my 
club  smoking-room  from  now  to 
the  Day  of  Judgment,  without 
adding  anything  to  mankind’s 
treasury  of  illustrious  and  encour- 
aging examples.  It  is  not  over 
the  virtues  of  a curate-and-tea- 
party  novel,  that  people  are 
abashed  into  high  resolutions. 
It  may  be  because  their  hearts  are 
crass,  but  to  stir  them  properly 
they  must  have  men  entering  into 
glory  with  some  pomp  and  cir- 
cumstance. And  that  is  wrhy 
these  stories  of  our  sea-captains, 
printed,  so  to  speak,  in  capitals, 
and  full  of  bracing  moral  influence, 
are  more  valuable  to  England  than 
any  material  benefit  in  all  the  books 
of  political  economy  between  W e§t- 


65 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


minster  and  Birmingham.  Green- 
ville chewing  wineglasses  at  table 
makes  no  very  pleasant  figure,  any 
more  than  a thousand  other  artists 
when  they  are  viewed  in  the  body, 
or  met  in  private  life ; but  his  work 
of  art,  his  finished  tragedy,  is  an 
eloquent  performance ; and  I con- 
tend it  ought  not  only  to  enliven 
men  of  the  sword  as  they  go  into 
battle,  but  send  back  merchant 
clerks  with  more  heart  and  spirit 
to  their  bookkeeping  by  double 
entry. 

There  is  another  question  which 
seems  bound  up  in  this;  and  that 
is  Temple’s  problem;  whether  it 
was  wise  of  Douglas  to  burn  with 
the  Royal  Oak ? and,  by  implica- 
tion, what  it  was  that  made  him 
do  so  ? Many  will  tell  you  that  it 
was  the  desire  of  fame. 

“To  what  do  Caesar  and  Alex- 
ander owe  the  infinite  grandeur  of 
their  renown,  but  to  fortune  ? 
How  many  men  has  she  extin- 
guished in  the  beginning  of  their 


66 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


progress,  of  whom  we  have  no 
knowledge ; who  brought  as  much 
courage  to  the  work  as  they,  if 
their  adverse  hap  had  not  cut  them 
off  in  the  first  sally  of  their  arms  ? 
Amongst  so  many  and  so  great 
dangers,  I do  not  remember  to  have 
anywhere  read  that  Caesar  was  ever 
wounded;  a thousand  have  fallen 
in  less  dangers  than  the  least  of 
these  he  went  through.  A great 
many  brave  actions  must  be  ex- 
pected to  be  performed  without 
witness,  for  one  that  comes  to 
some  notice.  A man  is  not  always 
at  the  top  of  a breach,  or  at  the 
head  of  an  army  in  the  sight  of 
his  general,  as  upon  a platform. 
He  is  often  surprised  between 
the  hedge  and  the  ditch ; he  must 
run  the  hazard  of  his  life  against 
a henroost;  he  must  dislodge 
four  rascally  musketeers  out  of  a 
barn;  he  must  prick  out  single 
from  his  party,  as  necessity  arises, 
and  meet  adventures  alone.” 

Thus  far  Montaigne,  in  a 


67 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


characteristic  essay  on  Glory . 
Where  death  is  certain,  as  in  the 
cases  of  Douglas  or  Greenville, 
it  seems  all  one  from  a personal 
point  of  view.  The  man  who  lost 
his  life  against  a henroost  is  in  the 
same  pickle  with  him  who  lost  his 
life  against  a fortified  place  of 
the  first  order.  Whether  he  has 
missed  a peerage  or  only  the 
corporal’s  stripes,  it  is  all  one  if 
he  has  missed  them  and  is  quietly 
in  the  grave.  It  was  by  a hazard 
that  we  learned  the  conduct  of  the 
four  marines  of  the  Wager.  There 
was  no  room  for  these  brave  fel- 
lows in  the  boat,  and  they  were 
left  behind  upon  the  island  to  a 
certain  death.  They  were  soldiers, 
they  said,  and  knew  well  enough 
it  was  their  business  to  die;  and 
as  their  comrades  pulled  away, 
they  stood  upon  the  beach,  gave 
three  cheers,  and  cried  “ God 
bless  the  king!”  Now,  one  or 
two  of  those  who  were  in  the  boat 
escaped,  against  all  likelihood,  to 


68 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


tell  the  story.  That  was  a great 
thing  for  us ; but  surely  it  cannot, 
by  any  possible  twisting  of  human 
speech,  be  construed  into  anything 
great  for  the  marines.  You  may 
suppose,  if  you  like,  that  they  died 
hoping  their  behaviour  would  not 
be  forgotten ; or  you  may  suppose 
they  thought  nothing  on  the  sub- 
ject, which  is  much  more  likely. 
What  can  be  the  signification  of 
the  word  “fame”  to  a private  of 
marines,  who  cannot  read  and 
knows  nothing  of  past  history 
beyond  the  reminiscences  of  his 
grandmother?  But  whichever  sup- 
position you  make,  the  fact  is 
unchanged.  They  died  while  the 
question  still  hung  in  the  balance ; 
and  I suppose  their  bones  were 
already  white,  before  the  winds  and 
the  waves  and  the  humour  of 
Indian  chiefs  and  Spanish  gov- 
ernors had  decided  whether  they 
were  to  be  unknown  and  useless 
martyrs  or  honoured  heroes.  In- 
deed, I believe  this  is  the  lesson : 


69 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


if  it  is  for  fame  that  men  do 
brave  actions,  they  are  only  silly 
fellows  after  all. 

It  is  at  best  but  a pettifogging, 
pickthank  business  to  decompose 
actions  into  little  personal  motives, 
and  explain  heroism  away.  The 
Abstract  Bagman  will  grow  like 
an  Admiral  at  heart,  not  by  un- 
grateful carping,  but  in  a heat  of 
admiration.  But  there  is  another 
theory  of  the  personal  motive  in 
these  fine  sayings  and  doings, 
which  I believe  to  be  true  and 
wholesome.  People  usually  do 
things,  and  suffer  martyrdoms, 
because  they  have  an  inclination 
that  way.  The  best  artist  is  not 
the  man  who  fixes  his  eye  on 
posterity,  but  the  one  who  loves 
the  practice  of  his  art.  And 
instead  of  having  a taste  for 
being  successful  merchants  and 
retiring  at  thirty,  some  people 
have  a taste  for  high  and  what 
we  call  heroic  forms  of  excite- 
ment. If  the  Admirals  courted 


70 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


war  like  a mistress;  if,  as  the 
drum  beat  to  quarters,  the  sailors 
came  gaily  out  of  the  forecastle, — 
it  is  because  a fight  is  a period  of 
multiplied  and  intense  experiences, 
and,  by  Nelson’s  computation, 
worth  “thousands”  to  any  one 
who  has  a heart  under  his  jacket. 
If  the  marines  of  the  Wager  gave 
three  cheers  and  cried  “ God  bless 
the  king,”  it  was  because  they  liked 
to  do  things  nobly  for  their  own 
satisfaction.  They  were  giving 
their  lives,  there  was  no  help  for 
that;  and  they  made  it  a point 
of  self-respect  to  give  them  hand- 
somely. And  there  were  never 
four  happier  marines  in  God’s 
wrorld  than  these  four  at  that 
moment.  If  it  was  worth  thou- 
sands to  be  at  the  Baltic,  I wish  a 
Benthamite  arithmetician  would 
calculate  how  much  it  was  worth 
to  be  one  of  these  four  marines; 
or  how  much  their  story  is  worth 
to  each  of  us  who  read  it.  And 
mark  you,  undemonstrative  men 


7i 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


would  have  spoiled  the  situation. 
The  finest  action  is  the  better  for 
a piece  of  purple.  If  the  soldiers 
of  the  Birkenhead  had  not  gone 
down  in  line,  or  these  marines  of 
the  Wager  had  walked  away  simply 
into  the  island,  like  plenty  of  other 
brave  fellows  in  the  like  circum- 
stances, my  Benthamite  arithme- 
tician would  assign  a far  lower 
value  to  the  two  stories.  We 
have  to  desire  a grand  air  in  our 
heroes;  and  such  a knowledge  of 
the  human  stage  as  shall  make 
them  put  the  dots  on  their  own 
i’s,  and  leave  us  in  no  suspense 
as  to  when  they  mean  to  be  heroic. 
And  hence,  we  should  congratulate 
ourselves  upon  the  fact  that  our 
Admirals  were  not  only  great- 
hearted but  big-spoken. 

The  heroes  themselves  say,  as 
often  as  not,  that  fame  is  their 
object;  but  I do  not  think  that  is 
much  to  the  ^purpose.  People 
generally  say  what  they  have  been 
taught  to  say;  that  was  the  catch- 


72 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


word  they  were  given  in  youth  to 
express  the  aims  of  their  way  of 
life;  and  men  who  are  gaining 
great  battles  are  not  likely  to  take 
much  trouble  in  reviewing  their 
sentiments  and  the  words  in  which 
they  were  told  to  express  them. 
Almost  every  person,  if  you  will 
believe  himself,  holds  a quite  dif- 
ferent theory  of  life  from  the  one 
on  which  he  is  patently  acting. 
And  the  fact  is,  fame  may  be  a 
forethought  and  an  afterthought, 
but  it  is  too  abstract  an  idea  to 
move  people  greatly  in  moments 
of  swift  and  momentous  decision. 
It  is  from  something  more  immedi- 
ate, some  determination  of  blood 
to  the  head,  some  trick  of  the 
fancy,  that  the  breach  is  stormed 
or  the  bold  word  spoken.  I am 
sure  a fellow  shooting  an  ugly 
weir  in  a canoe  has  exactly  as 
much  thought  about  fame  as  most 
commanders  going  into  battle ; 
and  yet  the  action,  fall  out  how  it 
will,  is  not  one  of  those  the  muse 


73 


THE  ENGLISH  ADMIRALS 


delights  to  celebrate.  Indeed  it 
is  difficult  to  see  why  the  fellow 
does  a thing  so  nameless  and  yet 
so  formidable  to  look  at,  unless 
on  the  theory  that  he  l^s  it.  I 
suspect  that  is  why;  and  I suspect 
it  is  at  least  ten  per  cent,  of  why 
Lord  Beacon sfield  and  Mr.  Glad- 
stone have  debated  so  much  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  and  why 
Burnaby  rode  to  Khiva  the  other 
day,  and  why  the  Admirals  courted 
war  like  a mistress. 


CHILD’S  PLAY 


CHILD’S  PLAY 
he  regret  we  have  for  our 


childhood  is  not  wholly 
justifiable:  so  much  a man  may 
lay  down  without  fear  of  public 
ribaldry;  for  although  we  shake 
our  heads  over  the  change,  we  are 
not  unconscious  of  the  manifold 
advantages  of  our  new  state. 
What  we  lose  in  generous  impulse, 
we  more  than  gain  in  the  habit  of 
generously  watching  others;  and 
the  capacity  to  enjoy  Shakespeare 
may  balance  a lost  aptitude  for 
playing  at  soldiers.  T error  is  gone 
out  of  our  lives,  moreover;  we  no 
longer  see  the  devil  in  the  bed- 
curtains  nor  lie  awake  to  listen  to 
the  wind.  We  go  to  school  no 
more;  and  if  we  have  only  ex- 
changed one  drudgery  for  another 
(which  is  by  no  means  sure),  we 
are  set  free  forever  from  the  daily 
fear  of  chastisement.  And  yet  a 


77 


child’s  play 


great  change  has  overtaken  us; 
and  although  we  do  not  enjoy  our- 
selves less,  at  least  we  take  our 
pleasure  differently.  We  need 
pickles  nowadays  to  make  Wed- 
nesday’s cold  mutton  please  our 
Friday’s  appetite;  and  I can 
remember  the  time  when  to  call 
it  red  venison,  and  tell  myself  a 
hunter’s  story,  would  have  made 
it  more  palatable  than  the  best  of 
sauces.  To  the  grown  person, 
cold  mutton  is  cold  mutton  all  the 
world  over;  not  all  the  mythology 
ever  invented  by  man  will  make 
it  better  or  worse  to  him;  the 
broad  fact,  the  clamant  reality,  of 
the  mutton  carries  away  before 
it  such  seductive  figments.  But 
for  the  child  it  is  still  possible  to 
weave  an  enchantment  over  eat- 
ables; and  if  he  has  but  read  of 
a dish  in  a story-book,  it  will  be 
heavenly  manna  to  him  for  a week. 

If  a grown  man  does  not  like 
eating  and  drinking  and  exercise, 
if  he  is  not  something  positive  in 


78 


child’s  play 


his  tastes,  it  means  he  has  a feeble 
body  and  should  have  some  medi- 
cine; but  children  may  be  pure 
spirits,  if  they  will,  and  take  their 
enjoyment  in  a world  of  moon- 
shine. Sensation  does  not  count 
for  so  much  in  our  first  years  as 
afterwards;  something  of  the 
swaddling  numbness  of  infancy 
clings  about  us;  we  see  and 
touch  and  hear  through  a sort 
of  golden  mist.  Children,  for 
instance,  are  able  enough  to  see, 
but  they  have  no  great  faculty  for 
looking;  they  do  not  use  their 
eyes  for  the  pleasure  of  using 
them,  but  for  by-ends  of  their 
own;  and  the  things  I call  to 
mind  seeing  most  vividly,  were  not 
beautiful  in  themselves,  but  merely 
interesting  or  enviable  to  me  as  I 
thought  they  might  be  turned  to 
practical  account  in  play.  Nor  is 
the  sense  of  touch  so  clean  and 
poignant  in  children  as  it  is  in  a 
man.  If  you  will  turn  over  your 
old  memories,  I think  the  sensa- 


79 


child’s  play 


tions  of  this  sort  you  remember 
will  be  somewhat  vague,  and  come 
to  not  much  more  than  a blunt, 
general  sense  of  heat  on  summer 
days,  or  a blunt,  general  sense  of 
wellbeing  in  bed.  And  here,  of 
course,  you  will  understand  pleas- 
urable sensations ; for  overmaster- 
ing pain  — the  most  deadly  and 
tragical  element  in  life,  and  the 
true  commander  of  man’s  soul  and 
body  — alas ! pain  has  its  own  way 
with  all  of  us ; it  breaks  in,  a rude 
visitant,  upon  the  fairy  garden 
where  the  child  winders  in  a 
dream,  no  less  surely  than  it  rules 
upon  the  field  of  battle,  or  sends 
the  immortal  war-god  whimpering 
to  his  father;  and  innocence,  no 
more  than  philosophy,  can  protect 
us  from  this  sting.  As  for  taste, 
when  we  bear  in  mind  the  excesses 
of  unmitigated  sugar  which  delight 
a youthful  palate,  “ it  is  surely  no 
very  cynical  asperity”  to  think 
taste  a character  of  the  maturer 
growth.  Smell  and  hearing  are 


80 


child’s  play 


perhaps  more  developed;  I remem- 
ber many  scents,  many  voices,  and 
a great  deal  of  spring  singing  in 
the  woods.  But  hearing  is  cap- 
able of  vast  improvement  as  a 
means  of  pleasure;  and  there  is 
all  the  world  between  gaping  won- 
derment at  the  jargon  of  birds, 
and  the  emotion  with  which  a man 
listens  to  articulate  music. 

At  the  same  time,  and  step  by 
step  with  this  increase  in  the 
definition  and  intensity  of  what 
we  feel  which  accompanies  our 
growing  age,  another  change  takes 
place  in  the  sphere  of  intellect,  by 
which  all  things  are  transformed 
and  seen  through  theories  and 
associations  as  through  coloured 
windows.  We  make  to  ourselves 
day  by  day,  out  of  history,  and 
gossip,  and  economical  specula- 
tions, and  God  knows  what,  a 
medium  in  which  we  walk  and 
through  which  we  look  abroad. 
We  study  shop  windows  with 
other  eyes  than  in  our  childhood, 


81 


child’s  play 


never  to  wonder,  not  always  to 
admire,  but  to  make  and  modify 
our  little  incongruous  theories 
about  life.  It  is  no  longer  the 
uniform  of  a soldier  that  arrests 
our  attention;  but  perhaps  the 
flowing  carriage  of  a woman,  or 
perhaps  a countenance  that  has 
been  vividly  stamped  with  passion 
and  carries  an  adventurous  story 
written  in  its  lines.  The  pleasure 
of  surprise  is  passed  away ; sugar- 
loaves  and  water-carts  seem  mighty 
tame  to  encounter;  and  we  walk 
the  streets  to  make  romances  and 
to  sociologise.  Nor  must  we  deny 
that  a good  many  of  us  walk  them 
solely  for  the  purposes  of  transit  or 
in  the  interest  of  a livelier  diges- 
tion. These,  indeed,  may  look 
back  with  mingled  thoughts  upon 
their  childhood,  but  the  rest  are 
in  a better  case ; they  know  more 
than  when  they  were  children,  they 
understand  better,  their  desires 
and  sympathies  answer  more 
nimbly  to  the  provocation  of  the 


82 


child’s  play 


senses,  and  their  minds  are  brim- 
ming with  interest  as  they  go 
about  the  world. 

According  to  my  contention, 
this  is  a flight  to  which  children 
cannot  rise.  They  are  wheeled 
in  perambulators  or  dragged  about 
by  nurses  in  a pleasing  stupour. 
A vague,  faint,  abiding  wonder- 
ment possesses  them.  Here  and 
there  some  specially  remarkable 
circumstance,  such  as  a water-cart 
or  a guardsman,  fairly  penetrates 
into  the  seat  of  thought  and  calls 
them,  for  half  a moment,  out  of 
themselves;  and  you  may  see 
them,  still  towed  forward  sideways 
by  the  inexorable  nurse  as  by  a 
sort  of  destiny,  but  still  staring  at 
the  bright  object  in  their  wake. 
It  may  be  some  minutes  before 
another  such  moving  spectacle 
reawakens  them  to  the  world  in 
which  they  dwell.  For  other 
children,  they  almost  invariably 
show  some  intelligent  sympathy. 
“There  is  a fine  fellow  making 


83 


CHILD'S  PLAY 


mud  pies,”  they  seem  to  say ; 
“that  I can  understand,  there  is 
some  sense  in  mud  pies.”  But 
the  doings  of  their  elders,  unless 
where  they  are  speakingly  pictur- 
esque or  recommend  themselves 
by  the  quality  of  being  easily 
imitable,  they  let  them  go  over 
their  heads  (as  we  say)  without 
the  least  regard.  If  it  were  not 
for  this  perpetual  imitation,  we 
should  be  tempted  to  fancy  they 
despised  us  outright,  or  only  con- 
sidered us  in  the  light  of  creatures 
brutally  strong  and  brutally  silly ; 
among  whom  they  condescended 
to  dwell  in  obedience  like  a philos- 
opher at  a barbarous  court.  At 
times,  indeed,  they  display  an 
arrogance  of  disregard  that  is 
truly  staggering.  Once,  when  I 
was  groaning  aloud  with  physical 
pain,  a young  gentleman  came 
into  the  room  and  nonchalantly 
inquired  if  I had  seen  his  bow 
and  arrow.  He  made  no  account 
of  my  groans,  which  he  accepted, 


child’s  play 


as  he  had  to  accept  so  much  else, 
as  a piece  of  the  inexplicable  con- 
duct of  his  elders ; and  like  a wise 
young  gentleman,  he  would  waste 
no  wonder  on  the  subject.  Those 
elders,  wTho  care  so  little  for  rational 
enjoyment,  and  are  even  the  ene- 
mies of  rational  enjoyment  for 
others,  he  had  accepted  without 
understanding  and  without  com- 
plaint, as  the  rest  of  us  accept  the 
scheme  of  the  universe* 

We  grown  people  can  tell  our- 
selves  a story,  give  and  take 
strokes  until  the  bucklers  ring, 
ride  far  and  fast,  marry,  fall,  and 
die;  all  the  while  sitting  quietly 
by  the  fire  or  lying  prone  in  bed* 
This  is  exactly  what  a child  can- 
not do,  or  does  not  do,  at  least, 
when  he  can  find  anything  else* 
He  works  all  with  lay  figures  and 
stage  properties.  When  his  story 
comes  to  the  fighting,  he  must  rise, 
get  something  by  way  of  a sword 
and  have  a set-to  with  a piece  of 
furniture,  until  he  is  out  of  breath* 


8S 


child’s  play 


When  he  comes  to  ride  with  the 
king’s  pardon,  he  must  bestride  a 
chair,  which  he  will  so  hurry  and 
belabour  and  on  wThieh  he  will  so 
furiously  demean  himself,  that  the 
messenger  will  arrive,  if  not  bloody 
with  spurring,  at  least  fiery  red 
with  haste.  If  his  romance  in- 
volves an  accident  upon  a cliff, 
he  must  clamber  in  person  about 
the  chest  of  drawers  and  fall  bodily 
upon  the  carpet,  before  his  imagi- 
nation is  satisfied.  Lead  soldiers, 
dolls,  all  toys,  in  short,  are  in  the 
same  category  and  answer  the 
same  end.  Nothing  can  stagger 
a child’s  faith;  he  accepts  the 
clumsiest  substitutes  and  can  swal- 
low the  most  staring  incongruities. 
The  chair  he  has  just  been  be- 
sieging as  a castle,  or  valiantly 
cutting  to  the  ground  as  a dragon, 
is  taken  away  for  the  accommoda- 
tion of  a morning  visitor,  and  he 
is  nothing  abashed;  he  can  skir- 
mish by  the  hour  with  a stationary 
coal-scuttle;  in  the  midst  of  the 


86 


child’s  play 


enchanted  pleasance,  he  can  see, 
without  sensible  shock,  the  gar- 
dener soberly  digging  potatoes  for 
the  day’s  dinner.  He  can  make 
abstraction  of  whatever  does  not 
fit  into  his  fable;  and  he  puts  his 
eyes  into  his  pocket,  just  as  we 
hold  our  noses  in  an  unsavory 
lane.  And  so  it  is,  that  although 
the  ways  of  children  cross  with 
those  of  their  elders  in  a hundred 
places  daily,  they  never  go  in  the 
same  direction  nor  so  much  as  lie 
in  the  same  element.  So  may  the 
telegraph  wires  intersect  the  line 
of  the  high-road,  or  so  might  a 
landscape  painter  and  a bagman 
visit  the  same  country,  and  yet 
move  in  different  worlds. 

People  struck  with  these  spec- 
tacles, cry  aloud  about  the  power 
of  imagination  in  the  young.  In- 
deed there  may  be  two  words  to 
that.  It  is,  in  some  ways,  but  a 
pedestrian  fancy  that  the  child 
exhibits.  It  is  the  grown  people 
who  make  the  nursery  stories ; all 


child’s  play 


the  children  do,  is  jealously  to 
preserve  the  text.  One  out  of 
a dozen  reasons  why  Robinson 
Crusoe  should  be  so  popular 
with  youth,  is  that  it  hits  their 
level  in  this  matter  to  a nicety; 
Crusoe  was  always  at  makeshifts 
and  had,  in  so  many  words,  1 6 
play  at  a great  variety  of  profes- 
sions; and  then  the  book  is  all 
about  tools,  and  there  is  nothing 
that  delights  a child  so  much. 
Hammers  and  saws  belong  to  a 
province  of  life  that  positively 
calls  for  imitation.  The  juvenile 
lyrical  drama,  surely  of  the  most 
ancient  Thespian  model,  wherein 
the  trades  of  mankind  are  suc- 
cessively simulated  to  the  running 
burthen  “On  a cold  and  frosty 
morning,”  gives  a good  instance 
of  the  artistic  taste  in  children. 
And  this  need  for  overt  action 
and  lay  figures  testifies  to  a defect 
in  the  child’s  imagination  which 
prevents  him  from  carrying  out 
his  novels  in  the  privacy  of  his 


88 


child’s  play 


own  heart.  He  does  not  yet 
know  enough  of  the  world  and 
men.  His  experience  is  incom- 
plete. That  stage-wardrobe  and 
scene-room  that  we  call  the  mem- 
ory is  so  ill  provided,  that  he  can 
overtake  few  combinations  and 
body  out  few  stories,  to  his  own 
content,  without  some  external 
aid.  He  is  at  the  experimental 
stage;  he  is  not  sure  how  one 
would  feel  in  certain  circum- 
stances; to  make  sure,  he  must 
come  as  near  trying  it  as  his 
means  permit.  And  so  here  is 
young  heroism  with  a wooden 
sword,  and  mothers  practice  their 
kind  vocation  over  a bit  of  jointed 
stick.  It  may  be  laughable  en  ough 
just  now;  but  it  is  these  same  peo- 
ple and  these  same  thoughts,  that 
not  long  hence,  when  they  are  on 
the  theatre  of  life,  will  make  you 
weep  and  tremble.  For  children 
think  very  much  the  same  thoughts, 
and  dream  the  same  dreams,  as 
bearded  men  and  marriageable 


89 


child’s  play 


women.  No  one  is  more  roman- 
tic. Fame  and  honour,  the  love 
of  young  men  and  the  love  of 
mothers,  the  business  man’s  pleas- 
ure in  method,  all  these  and  others 
they  anticipate  and  rehearse  in 
their  play  hours.  Upon  us,  who 
are  further  advanced  and  fairly 
dealing  with  the  threads  of  des- 
tiny, they  only  glance  from  time 
to  time  to  glean  a hint  for  their 
own  mimetic  reproduction.  Two 
children  playing  at  soldiers  are 
far  more  interesting  to  each  other 
than  one  of  the  scarlet  beings 
whom  both  are  busy  imitating. 
This  is  perhaps  the  greatest  oddity 
of  all.  “Art  for  art”  is  their 
motto;  and  the  doings  of  growTn 
folk  are  only  interesting  as  the 
raw  material  for  play.  Not  Theo- 
phile  Gautier,  not  Flaubert,  can 
look  more  callously  upon  life,  or 
rate  the  reproduction  more  highly 
over  the  reality;  and  they  will 
parody  an  execution,  a deathbed, 
or  the  funeral  of  the  young  man 


90 


child's  play 


of  Nain,  with  all  the  cheerfulness 
in  the  world. 

The  true  parallel  for  play  is  not 
to  be  found,  of  course, in  conscious 
art,  which,  though  it  be  derived 
from  play,  is  itself  an  abstract, 
impersonal  thing,  and  depends 
largely  upon  philosophical  interests 
beyond  the  scope  of  childhood. 
It  is  when  we  make  castles  in  the 
air  and  personate  the  leading  char- 
acter in  our  own  romances,  that 
we  return  to  the  spirit  of  our  first 
years.  Only,  there  are  several  rea- 
sons why  the  spirit  is  no  longer 
so  agreeable  to  indulge.  Nowa- 
days, when  we  admit  this  personal 
element  into  our  divagations  we 
are  apt  to  stir  up  uncomfortable  and 
sorrowful  memories,  and  remind 
ourselves  sharply  of  old  wounds. 
Our  day-dreams  can  no  longer 
lie  all  in  the  air  like  a story  in 
the  Arabian  Knights;  they  read 
to  us  rather  like  the  history  of  a 
period  in  which  we  ourselves  had 
taken  part,  where  we  come  across 


9i 


child’s  play 


many  unfortunate  passages  and 
find  our  own  conduct  smartly 
reprimanded.  And  then  the  child, 
mind  you,  acts  his  parts.  He  does 
not  merely  repeat  them  to  himself ; 
he  leaps,  he  runs,  and  sets  the  blood 
agog  over  all  his  body.  And  so 
his  play  breathes  him ; and  he  no 
sooner  assumes  a passion  than  he 
gives  it  vent.  Alas!  when  we  be- 
take ourselves  to  our  intellectual 
form  of  play,  sitting  quietly  by  the 
fire  or  lying  prone  in  bed,  we  rouse 
many  hot  feelings  for  which  we  can 
find  no  outlet.  Substitutes  are  not 
acceptable  to  the  mature  mind, 
wThich  desires  the  thing  itself ; and 
even  to  rehearse  a triumphant  dia- 
logue with  one’s  enemy,  although 
it  is  perhaps  the  most  satisfactory 
piece  of  play  still  left  within  our 
reach,  is  not  entirely  satisfying,  and 
is  even  apt  to  lead  to  a visit  and  an 
interview  which  may  be  the  reverse 
of  triumphant  after  all. 

In  the  child’s  world  of  dim  sen- 
sation, play  is  all  in  all.  “ Making 


92 


child's  play 


believe”  is  the  gist  of  his  whole 
life,  and  he  cannot  so  much  as 
take  a walk  except  in  character. 
I could  not  learn  my  alphabet 
without  some  suitable  mise-en- 
sctne,  and  had  to  act  a business 
man  in  an  office  before  I could 
sit  down  to  my  book.  Will  you 
kindly  question  your  memory,  and 
find  out  how  much  you  did,  work 
or  pleasure,  in  good  faith  and 
soberness,  and  for  how  much  you 
had  to  cheat  yourself  with  some 
invention  ? I remember,  as  though 
it  were  yesterday,  the  expansion  of 
spirit,  the  dignity  and  self-reliance, 
that  came  with  a pair  of  mus- 
tachios  in  burnt  cork,  even  when 
there  was  none  to  see.  Children 
are  even  content  to  forego  what 
we  call  the  realities,  and  prefer 
the  shadow  to  the  substance. 
When  they  might  be  speaking 
intelligibly  together,  they  chatter 
senseless  gibberish  by  the  hour, 
and  are  quite  happy  because  they 
are  making  believe  to  speak 


93 


child’s  play 


French.  I have  said  already  how 
even  the  imperious  appetite  of 
hunger  suffers  itself  to  be  gulled 
and  led  by  the  nose  with  the  fag- 
end  of  an  old  song.  And  it  goes 
deeper  than  this:  when  children 
are  together  even  a meal  is  felt  as 
an  interruption  in  the  business  of 
life;  and  they  must  find  some 
imaginative  sanction,  and  tell 
themselves  some  sort  of  story,  to 
account  for,  to  colour,  to  render 
entertaining,  the  simple  processes 
of  eating  and  drinking.  What 
wonderful  fancies  I have  heard 
evolved  out  of  the  pattern  upon 
tea-cups!  — from  which  there  fol- 
lowed a code  of  rules  and  a whole 
world  of  excitement,  until  tea- 
drinking began  to  take  rank  as  a 
game.  When  my  cousin  and  I 
took  our  porridge  of  a morning, 
we  had  a device  to  enliven  the 
course  of  the  meal.  He  ate  his 
with  sugar,  and  explained  it  to  be 
a country  continually  buried  under 
snow.  I took  mine  with  milk, 


94 


child’s  play 


and  explained  it  to  be  a country 
suffering  gradual  inundation.  You 
can  imagine  us  exchanging  bulle- 
tins; how  here  was  an  island  still 
unsubmerged,  here  a valley  not 
yet  covered  with  snow;  what  in- 
ventions were  made;  how  his 
population  lived  in  cabins  on 
perches  and  travelled  on  stilts, 
and  how  mine  was  always  in 
boats;  how  the  interest  grew  furi- 
ous, as  the  last  corner  of  safe 
ground  was  cut  off  on  all  sides 
and  grew  smaller  every  moment; 
and  how,  in  fine,  the  food  was  of 
altogether  secondary  importance, 
and  might  even  have  been  nau- 
seous, so  long  as  we  seasoned  it 
with  these  dreams.  But  perhaps 
the  most  exciting  moments  I ever 
had  over  a meal,  were  in  the  case 
of  calves’  feet  jelly.  It  was  hardly 
possible  not  to  believe  — and  you 
may  be  sure,  so  far  from  trying,  I 
did  all  I could  to  favour  the  illu- 
sion— that  some  part  of  it  was 
hollow,  and  that  sooner  or  later 


95 


child’s  play 


my  spoon  would  lay  open  the 
secret  tabernacle  of  the  golden 
rock.  There,  might  some  minia- 
ture Red  Beard  await  his  hour; 
there,  might  one  find  the  treasures 
of  the  Forty  Thieves,  and  be- 
wildered Cassim  beating  about 
the  walls.  And  so  I quarried  on 
slowly,  with  bated  breath,  savour- 
ing the  interest.  Believe  me,  I 
had  little  palate  left  for  the  jelly; 
and  though  I preferred  the  taste 
when  I took  cream  with  it,  I used 
often  to  go  without,  because  the 
cream  dimmed  the  transparent 
fractures. 

Even  with  games,  this  spirit  is 
authoritative  with  right-minded 
children.  It  is  thus  that  hide-and- 
seek  has  so  pre-eminent  a sover- 
eignty, for  it  is  the  wellspring  of 
romance,  and  the  actions  and  the 
excitement  to  which  it  gives  rise 
lend  themselves  to  almost  any 
sort  of  fable.  And  thus  cricket, 
which  is  a mere  matter  of  dex- 
terity, palpably  about  nothing 


96 


child’s  play 


and  for  no  end,  often  fails  to 
satisfy  infantile  craving.  It  is  a 
game,  if  you  like,  but  not  a game 
of  play.  You  cannot  tell  yourself 
a story  about  cricket;  and  the 
activity  it  calls  forth  can  be  justi- 
fied on  no  rational  theory.  Even 
football,  although  it  admirably 
simulates  the  tug  and  the  ebb 
and  flow  of  battle,  has  presented 
difficulties  to  the  minds  of  young 
sticklers  after  verisimilitude;  and 
I knew  at  least  one  little  boy  who 
was  mightily  exercised  about  the 
presence  of  the  ball,  and  had  to 
spirit  himself  up,  whenever  he 
came  to  play,  with  an  elaborate 
story  of  enchantment,  and  take 
the  missile  as  a sort  of  talisman 
bandied  about  in  conflict  between 
two  Arabian  nations. 

To  think  of  such  a frame  of 
mind,  is  to  become  disquieted 
about  the  bringing  up  of  children. 
Surely  they  dwell  in  a mythologi- 
cal epoch,  and  are  not  the  contem- 
poraries of  their  parents.  What 


97 


child’s  play 


can  they  think  of  them  ? what  can 
they  make  of  these  bearded  or 
petticoated  giants  who  look  down 
upon  their  games  ? who  move 
upon  a cloudy  Olympus,  follow- 
ing unknown  designs  apart  from 
rational  enjoyment?  who  profess 
the  tenderest  solicitude  for  chil- 
dren, and  yet  every  now  and  again 
reach  down  out  of  their  altitude 
and  terribly  vindicate  the  preroga- 
tives of  age  ? Off  goes  the  child, 
corporally  smarting,  but  morally 
rebellious.  Were  there  ever  such 
unthinkable  deities  as  parents  ? 
I would  give  a great  deal  to  knowT 
what,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  is 
the  child’s  unvarnished  feeling.  A 
sense  of  past  cajolery;  a sense  of 
personal  attraction,  at  best  very 
feeble;  above  all,  I should  imag- 
ine, a sense  of  terror  for  the  untried 
residue  of  mankind : go  to  make  up 
the  attraction  that  he  feels.  No 
wonder,  poor  little  heart,  with  such 
a weltering  world  in  front  of  him, 
if  he  clings  to  the  hand  he  knows! 


98 


child’s  play 


The  dread  irrationality  of  the  whole 
affair,  as  it  seems  to  children,  is  a 
thing  we  are  all  too  ready  to  forget. 
“ O,  why,”  I remember  passionately 
wondering,  “ why  can  we  not  all  be 
happy  and  devote  ourselves  to 
play?”  And  when  children  do 
philosophise,  I believe  it  is  usually 
to  very  much  the  same  purpose. 

One  thing,  at  least,  comes  very 
clearly  out  of  these  considerations  ; 
that  whatever  we  are  to  expect  at 
the  hands  of  children,  it  should 
not  be  any  peddling  exactitude 
about  matters  of  fact.  They  walk 
in  a vain  showT,  and  among  mists 
and  rainbows ; they  are  passionate 
after  dreams  and  unconcerned 
about  realities;  speech  is  a diffi- 
cult art  not  wholly  learned;  and 
there  is  nothing  in  their  own  tastes 
or  purposes  to  teach  them  what 
we  mean  by  abstract  truthfulness. 
When  a bad  writer  is  inexact,  even 
if  he  can  look  back  on  half  a cen- 
tury of  years,  we  charge  him  with 
incompetence  and  not  with  dis- 


99 


child’s  play 


honesty.  And  why  not  extend 
the  same  allowance  to  imperfect 
speakers?  Let  a stockbroker  be 
dead  stupid  about  poetry,  or  a 
poet  inexact  in  the  details  of  busi- 
ness, and  we  excuse  them  heartily 
from  blame.  But  show  us  a mis- 
erable, unbreeched  human  entity, 
whose  whole  profession  it  is  to 
take  a tub  for  a fortified  town  and 
a shaving-brush  for  the  deadly 
stiletto,  and  who  passes  three- 
fourths  of  his  time  in  a dream  and 
the  rest  in  open  self-deception, 
and  we  expect  him  to  be  as  nice 
upon  a matter  of  fact  as  a scientific 
expert  bearing  evidence.  Upon 
my  heart,  I think  it  less  than 
decent.  You  do  not  consider  how 
little  the  child  sees,  or  how  swift 
he  is  to  weave  what  he  has  seen 
into  bewildering  fiction ; and  that 
he  cares  no  more  for  what  you  call 
truth,  than  you  for  a gingerbread 
dragoon. 

I am  reminded,  as  I write,  that 
the  child  is  very  inquiring  as  to 


ioo 


child's  play 


the  precise  truth  of  stories.  But 
indeed  this  is  a very  different 
matter,  and  one  bound  up  with 
the  subject  of  play,  and  the  pre- 
cise amount  of  playfulness,  or 
playability,  to  be  looked  for  in 
the  world.  Many  such  burning 
questions  must  arise  in  the  course 
of  nursery  education.  Among  the 
fauna  of  this  planet,  which  already 
embraces  the  pretty  soldier  and 
the  terrifying  Irish  beggarman,  is, 
or  is  not,  the  child  to  expect  a 
Bluebeard  or  a Cormoran  ? Is 
he,  or  is  he  not,  to  look  out  for 
magicians,  kindly  and  potent  ? 
May  he,  or  may  he  not,  reasonably 
hope  to  be  cast  away  upon  a 
desert  island,  or  turned  to  such 
diminutive  proportions  that  he  can 
live  on  equal  terms  with  his  lead 
soldiery,  and  go  a cruise  in  his 
own  toy  schooner?  Surely  all 
these  are  practical  questions  to  a 
neophyte  entering  upon  life  with 
a view  to  play.  Precision  upon 
such  a point,  the  child  can  under- 


IOI 


child’s  play 


stand.  But  if  you  merely  ask  him 
of  his  past  behaviour,  as  to  who 
threw  such  a stone,  for  instance, 
or  struck  such  and  such  a match ; 
or  whether  he  had  looked  into  a 
parcel  or  gone  by  a forbidden  path, 
— why,  he  can  see  no  moment  in 
the  inquiry,  and  it  is  ten  to  one, 
he  has  already  half  forgotten  and 
half  bemused  himself  with  sub- 
sequent imaginings. 

It  would  be  easy  to  leave  them 
in  their  native  cloudland,  where 
they  figure  so  prettily  — pretty  like 
flowers  and  innocent  like  dogs. 
They  will  come  out  of  their  gar- 
dens soon  enough,  and  have  to 
go  into  offices  and  the  witness-box. 
Spare  them  yet  a while,  O consci- 
entious parent ! Let  them  doze 
among  their  playthings  yet  a little ! 
for  who  knows  what  a rough,  war- 
faring  existence  lies  before  them 
in  the  future  ? 


V 


